If the 5th of November isn't relevant to you, transfer your thoughts to the 4th of July or the 31st of December as midnight rolls around.
Any celebration involving fireworks.
My, it was a smoky night last night. Pop, pop, pop, bang, KABOOM, whoosh, fizz fizz fizz.
What do you do about a night packed with fireworks, if you are looking after someone with dementia?
Inform.
There'll be fireworks tonight.
These unavoidable displays may become very distressing to the cared-for. If you can build up to the fiery event with a sense of enthusiasm, you've won most of the battle.
Luckily for me, the cared-for thinks fireworks are pretty. She points them out.
There's one, and there's one. A blue one. Did you see that one?
And that's all I need. Someone on my side during the explosions.
I double-check the room for tripping hazards, and leave only the light from the television to illuminate the room. That way, she can sit and watch the November-dark sky ripple with colours.
If you make it all about being safe, staying indoors, out of the cold, then you will glide through the night in question...
Whenever that night happens to be, wherever you are.
(I can't help you if it's warm on the 4th of July.)
Daylight. The smoke is gone. I walked the garden, picking up fragments of cardboard tubes. And I discovered a plastic rocket cone that amused me beyond its capacity to be funny.
I suspect it is the colour.
There's enough of a serial number there to identify a Diamond Fireworks rocket. These pieces come from at least three flying bombs that ended their journeys in darkness, on the cold garden ground.
Nothing caught fire last night, except the spark of imagination in someone who enjoyed watching fireworks dazzle in the distance.
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